Baby Possum Tale

"Daddy can I please keep it? Please?"
My first words as I trotted down the hill carrying the furry ball of varmit in my arms.
It was a cool summer day in the foothills of West Virginia. While visiting my grandparents, my uncle had asked me (the six year old version) to go check his traps with him. I agreed warmly, eager to escape the stuffy adult conversation surrounding the old kitchen table and danced out the old white door, my short crop bouncing in enthusiastic meter behind me.
We climbed up the treacherous trail by the old creek bed, and walked about a half of a mile until reaching one of his traps, used to catch coons and other small creatures inhabiting those ancient conifer homes.
Imagine my surprise when a whole litter of adorable baby possums and their mama lay quietly in the wire mesh surrounding their temporary cell! My uncle quickly bent down, not wanting to hurt a mama and her babies, and sprung open the cage door, allowing them a speedy exit. We turned, ready to trek back down the monster hill, when I heard the faintest sound, almost like the meowing of a kitten just born. It came from the wire cage we thought, until now, had emptied itself of its prisoners.
There, huddled in the corner all alone and forsaken, lay a tiny baby possum about as big as a grown man's fist. It complained loudly, waiting for its mother's rescue to appear, but the mother and other babies had already disappeared into the forest, leaving the young one behind. We tried to coax it out of the cage, but it wailed in terror at leaving its familiar prison alone. My uncle finally shook the cage until he caught the trembling creature in his fist, and handed him over to my eager arms.
Soft warm fur assailed me, and I wrapped the shivering baby up in my t-shirt as he clung desperately to the thin fabric. I had adopted the little pet for better or worse when I stared into those helpless blue eyes and knew I could be its new mother. All I had to do: convince my dad.
The reply came swiftly as you probably have guessed dear reader. "No." So, I found myself trudging back up the hill to abandon my poor baby possum, crying loudly all the way, bemoaning the injustice of it all.
Yet, standing on top of the hill, waiting patiently among the trees, stood his own possum mama, waiting for her prodigal son, waiting for him to come home to his real family as his adoptive one left him there wishing that for once, she could have been a mother.
Now to my ever present analogy in the mix: How often do we as Christians trap ourself in cages of sin and despair because we refuse to follow God's will for our lives. We build our own prison walls, seal them, and then bury ourselves in a corner, dreaming of seeing the light of day once more. Then, when someone comes to let us out of our prison, often instead of following our Father out into the light, we instead have become so comfortable lying on our prison mats, stuck in an endless drudge of complaining and apathy, yet never realizing the door is open for our release. There lies the truth my friends. Forgive me if I preach a little, but our Savior Jesus has opened the door of our prisons. We no longer have to lie in our filth and rags. He wants to lead us into the light of day once more, and he waits patiently for us to follow him, even if we take some detours along the way. Are you ready to trust him to lead you through the door to freedom today